Gregory Djanikian: This, Too, Shall Be a Place of Gathering

Then one day we will find ourselves

standing near a river

the sound of purling water

reminding us of our first incitements.

Yellow leaves will wreath us

like small vanishing suns.

A crowd on the far bank

will gather, their scarves furled,

their hats pulled tightly on,

waiting to return to their own entanglements.

There will be no flourishes, no twittering birds

or wind thrumming in the reeds.

At the edge of the woods

we will stand as shyly

as animals about to enter

their last astonishment.

Someone will be speaking of love

and the words will be falling

like seed-shells into the river

and in different tongues.

And the river will be moving

with no memory of our bodies

or how often we knelt by its side

with open mouths.